


don’t shoot the albatross

by atriflewicked



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cosette - Freeform, Cosette x Grantaire, F/M, Fluff, Grantaire - Freeform, Some Cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atriflewicked/pseuds/atriflewicked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks she has too much hair. She thinks he is full of it</p>
            </blockquote>





	don’t shoot the albatross

It's not that he is her first choice, really. He is her _only_ choice, and this means that the matter at hand transcends 'choosing' entirely and turns him into a necessity, whether he likes it or not ( _he doesn't_ ). While she is not too proud to - no, she is just not proud, period, and she is lonely and bored and if begging is what it takes then beg she will.

Besides, he is ever so careful not to call her out on this. He says she is nagging, whining, wheedling and cajoling, but never begging. This strange omission does not go unnoticed; she takes time to ponder over it when nobody is looking and can feel her cheeks warm up a little.

 

***

She makes him her charity project, and he despises her for it  but is powerless to stop or even discourage her. Everyone else on this bloody island is either too old or too married to keep her company and that - by some crazy, totally fucked-up logic - has turned him into her suitor. Her father is not very pleased with the whole 'courtship by default' business, and Grantaire would have taken heart in the fact that at least there is someone who sees eye to eye with him on the matter, were he not busy studiously avoiding the man in question. He prefers his legs unbroken, thank you ever so kindly.

 

***

He smells of fish and beer and, quite frankly, can use a shave. Her father disapproves. Any father in his right mind would. Grantaire is just that type of character. Hell, the type itself was probably made up in his likeness. But Cosette, despite her gentle demeanor and softly-spoken words, possess a will of iron and vast reserves of patience.

In other words, she is stubborn as a mull and used to getting her way.

 

***

She is too sweet for his taste, all licorice and summer dresses and fluttering lashes. With her bright smiles and hopeful gaze, Cosette is a pest, a nuisance, plain and simple. As pleasant as an early morning is to a severely hungover man, and Grantaire is _always_ hungover and _almost always_ severe.

_But..._

She is an outcast here, a little too sheltered and so a little too wild, too eager to make friends. Local housewives eye her with suspicion while their husbands try to inconspicuously wipe the drool from their chins.

Grantaire sighs, gives up and gives in. It’s just his luck.

 

***

Cosette dreams of big cities some nights, of bustling streets and neon signs, of towering buildings and loud music, of women in pretty dresses. She wakes up to the gentle whoosh of the waves and birds singing. _It's not so bad_ , Cosette thinks, _not bad at all._

Other nights she dreams of her stepsisters. Her shoulders always ache upon waking.

He father teaches her to forgive, desperate to be absolved of the sins he would not admit even to her. But _to forgive_ does not meant _to forget_ , and Cosette is determined to remember.

 _Never again_.

 

***

Cosette has two blue birds tattooed on her back. He almost chokes on his beer when she pulls of her shirt to reveal the thin line of her swimsuit and pale shoulder blades inked with twin swallows. It's incongruous with the image of Cosette in his mind, all cutesy bows and curlicues, daddy's little sweetheart. He asks her about it, of course, how can he not? Cosette smiles the way he has never seen her smile before - there is a sharp, unclean edge to her smile and her usual radiance dims a little -  and shakes her head.

“It's a long story,” she says.

 

***

She dreams of a green-eyed boy occasionally, gentle and fair. He stands so close to her she can count his freckles. She dreams of love written the stars. But dreams are just dreams, gone upon waking, and  stars are just old light.

 

***

Honestly, he is fine with being just friends with her, but she is making this really _hard_ for him in every conceivable sense of the word.

Quite likely, on purpose.

At least, he wouldn't put it past her.

They are on the beach, sunbathing. Well, Cosette is, she has been doing a lot of sunbathing lately. He, on the other hand, is fully clothed and just about ready to ran for the hills. Yet he stays. He blames the hair. All this hair, streaming past her tanned shoulders like sunlight. If he squints he can almost see the inked birds fluttering their wings behind the fine net of golden strands. Cosette turns to look at him, curious, and Grantaire turns away, clears his throat.

For fuck’s sake, he is not _blind_. He is sure she fancies herself in love with him, but she is  not, she is just a lonely girl who is eager to fall for someone ( _not him,_ definitely _not him_ ), ready for a fairy-tale prince to whisk her away from the well-meaning but overbearing father, and he is … he is no prince. He is an old drunk with so much emotional baggage that he has to down a bottle of beer as soon as he can crack his eyes open in the morning just so he can get through the rest of the day in one piece.

He is not usually the man to deny what comes into his hands on its own free will - and yes, yes he is that kind of _disgusting,_ that kind of _pathetic_ and just overall bloody _sad_ , but he is not a bastard.

***

Cosette is trying hard not to be resentful. But it's difficult, really difficult.

_He kissed her._

He. Kissed. Her

He kissed her!

...and then he took off before she could say a word, before she could even blink or move or grab him. She should have given the chase. She is faster than him and, really, they are on a fucking island, he can only run so far. Besides, his stamina is shit, she outlasts  him any day.

Except, they are supposed to be adults or, at the very least, they are supposed to act like adults, and exactly how bitter and desperate having to literally hunt her would-be boyfriend down makes her?

She would certainly not refuse a piece of advice at this point. Or, perhaps, just someone to rant and rage to. It doesn't help that her only confidante is a ten-year-old Marianne who is still not entirely convinced that boys do not have cooties.

“He kissed me,” Cosette says, just to test if it sounds as stupid as it does in her head, “and ran away.”

_Yep, it does._

“Boys,” Marianne offers sagely.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly didn't plan to make it 'fluffy'. I blame Cosette.


End file.
